by R. S. Lively
I turn the light off in the room and head toward Grammie’s bedroom again.
"What happened to the guest room?" I ask, stepping into the room.
"The guest room?" she asks. I nod and point in the direction of the room. "Oh, you mean your room."
Hearing Grammie say that sets off an untold number of emotions inside me, but it's hard to feel warm and fuzzy about a room that looks like a garage sale threw up in it.
"Yeah," I say. "It's... full."
"I'm sorry, I forgot to mention that. One of the storage buildings outside got damaged in a storm a few months back. When Leslie called to tell me, he offered to take care of it for me, so I didn't have to come all the way out here. I just told him to go ahead and take everything out and put it inside. Since that was the smallest bedroom, they thought it would be best to put everything there."
"Why didn't they just put it in the attic or basement?"
"The attic is far too full to store anything else," Grammie says. "And that basement scares anyone who tries to get near it. I haven't been down there in years."
"You haven't been in your own basement?"
"No. Don't you remember how you and Fiona would dare each other to go down there when you were kids? Now, I'm not a superstitious woman, but there is something about that basement I'm just not sure about. I don't remember it being like that when Gramps and I first got married. Maybe it moved in later."
A contemplative look settles on her face, and I get the sense she won't be coming back out of it anytime soon.
"I'll just stay in the other room," I say.
"What other room?" Fiona asks as I start to cross the hallway.
"This one," I say, pointing at the room positioned on one side of the bathroom.
"The one next to mine?" she asks.
"No. The one next to the bathroom next to yours."
She gives me a look that tells me she isn’t actually ready to act like an adult, and starts back downstairs, a basket of laundry balanced on her hip. When I follow after her a minute or two later, I find Fiona standing in the laundry room, staring at the washer and dryer. Definitely not original to the old house, the room had been carved out of the large storage room at the back of the kitchen, creating a somewhat strange set of dimensions. The washer and dryer shoved into the leftover space amongst shelves of varying lengths are ancient. They look like the same ones that were here when I was a young teenager.
"Do these even work?" she asks.
"I have no idea," I answer. I'm about to say 'I have someone who does my laundry for me' but stop myself. "Even if they do still run, they definitely should be replaced."
"I don't understand her," Fiona says, dropping the basket down to her feet. "It's not like they were extravagantly wealthy, but Gramps always made sure Grammie was comfortable. She has enough money to keep both houses and is always up to something. But she doesn't stop to think she might want to make sure her laundry machines won't disintegrate during the next wash cycle."
"Maybe she likes the uncertainty," I say. "She never knows what's going to happen when she tosses in a load of whites. She could get nice, fluffy towels, or she could get a room full of water. It's a mystery."
Fiona's eyes slice sideways at me.
"Somehow I don't think that's Grammie's idea of a thrill."
"Well, maybe I'll see what I can do about them during the repairs. Right now, I'm going to unload my luggage. It looks like those few minutes were the only reprieve we're going to get from this storm, so there's no point in waiting. Then I'm going to take a shower."
"Thank you so much for the rundown."
I don't bother to respond. Pulling my collar up higher on my neck, I duck out onto the front porch and sprint to my truck. Feeling glad I didn't leave my luggage in the uncovered bed, I pull my suitcase out of the backseat of the cab and rush back into the house. Barely leaving that bag just inside, I run back out for the other. The rain seems to have increased in intensity just to spite me, and by the time I've gotten my bags inside, I'm completely soaked. Peeling off my shirt and throwing it into the laundry room, I carry my bags upstairs and into my bedroom. Not wanting to get the bedding wet, I leave the suitcases sitting on the wooden floor. Shutting the door, I manage to wrestle my jeans off and tuck them away in a corner when I hear water from the other side of the wall. It takes me a few seconds to realize the shower is running.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter.
Tossing the damp socks in my hand on the floor, wearing nothing but my boxers and a white undershirt, I stomp toward the bathroom. I knock rapidly.
"What?" Fiona's voice rings out from inside the bathroom.
I grab the doorknob and push the door open, expecting Fiona to be in the shower. Instead, she's standing in the middle of the room, completely naked, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders and back. She screams and grabs the towel from the counter in front of her, pulling it around to cover as much of herself as she can.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she shrieks. "Don't you knock?"
"I did knock!"
"I didn't tell you to come in!"
"I thought you were in the shower. How was I supposed to know you were standing in the middle of the bathroom?"
"Because the door was closed?"
"The water is on! How many people turn the shower on and then just stand around naked in the middle of the bathroom?"
"I forgot to bring my body wash in with me," she says, a rosy blush coloring her freckled cheeks. "Not that it's any of your business. What are you doing?"
"I told you I was going to take a shower."
"Yes, when you finished getting your stuff out of the car."
"So, you just hopped right in?" I ask. "Exactly how much stuff do you think I brought with me?"
"I have no idea. I figured you'd at least have some things with you to do the repairs. Like… hammers or something."
"I didn't bring my tools with me," I say. "I didn't know the extent of the issues with the house. I still don't know."
"If you don't have any tools with you, how do you expect to fix the house?"
" I assumed there were still tools around here I could use while I make a list of what I need. Perhaps in one of those toolsheds outside. Those were always full of tools and equipment. I don't see why that would have changed. I'd hate to think those sheds aren't living up to their name and are just trying to slide by on their looks alone."
"Hilarious," she replies dryly. "That doesn't explain why you are standing here, half-naked."
"I'm soaking wet, muddy from running across the front yard with my luggage, and I want a shower. Now."
"Well, I'm using the shower right now. Sorry."
"No, you aren't. You're standing outside of the shower right now."
"And I fully intend on getting back in as soon as you leave."
I glare at her for a few seconds. There's something about being soaked in the hot summer rain that leaves me feeling disgusting, and I'm not interested in waiting any longer to get into the shower. She knew I wanted to get in, and she decided to push her way in first. That's fine. She had her chance.
I take off my shirt and drop it as I shrug, looking back and forth between her and the shower. Fiona's eyes linger on my naked chest for a few seconds.
"What are you doing?" she asks.
"I'm getting in the shower," I say.
Her mouth opens and her eyes narrow.
"No, you aren't. I'm taking a shower."
"See, you say that, but, again, it doesn't look like you are. It looks like you were taking a shower, but you stopped. So that makes it my turn."
"It is not your turn," she says. "I'm not done with my shower. I still have conditioner in my hair. I haven't even washed my makeup off."
I notice. Dear god, I notice. It's taking everything in me not to openly stare at the swell of her breasts spilling over the towel she's wrapped tightly around her, or notice how sexy her damp hair looks as it clings to her curves.
"Maybe you should have planned your approach better."
I grab hold of the waistband of my boxers as Fiona watches. Our eyes meet, and she narrows hers slightly like she's provoking me to follow through with her unspoken dare.
OK, then. You asked for it.
The second I yank my trunks down, Fiona covers her eyes with her hand and screams.
"Cade! What the fuck! Put your boxers back on!"
"As much as I think it would be good for the washer to take a bit of a break, I'm not interested in multitasking this afternoon. Shower and laundry are just going to have to be separate."
I take the few steps to the tub and push back the curtain, walking through it into the steaming shower.
"What are you doing? I’m taking a shower, Cade!"
"You just keep saying that, but from where I'm standing, quite literally, it seems I'm the one taking a shower."
I suddenly realize I didn't bring any of my own toiletries with me into the bathroom. Shit. I have staked my claim on the shower itself, but it's not doing me much good. Grammie has a large, luxurious bathroom attached to her master bedroom, so her products aren’t here either. My eyes scan the shower around me, and I see Fiona's shampoo and conditioner sitting on the small corner shelf beside me. The pink flowers tumbling down a technicolor waterfall on the front don't give me high hopes of feeling very masculine by the time this is all over, but I'm already here. I grab the bottle of shampoo and squeeze a small amount into my palm. As soon as it hits my hair and starts to lather, a sweet, flowery smell spreads through the room.
Fiona gasps. "Are you using my shampoo?"
"Yes."
Suddenly the curtain beside me shifts. I expect it to fly open, but instead, it pushes further into the shower, creating a flimsy wall. Through it I see the silhouette of Fiona step into the shower behind me. The angle of the curtain reveals the bottoms of her legs and her feet as it pulls from the rod holding it in place.
"If you're going to use my shampoo, I'm using some of the water, too."
The water from the shower head hits the top of the curtain-wall, breaking the stream so it barely sprays on either side. I try to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, but there's not enough of the water to do it. I reach up and adjust the angle of the head so the water streams down just on my side of the curtain.
This is not matching up to any of the times I’ve envisioned sharing a shower with Fiona.
"Hey! Put the water back over here."
"No."
"I need to rinse off."
"There's some water pooling on the bottom of the tub. Try a bath."
"Cade, stop being such a jerk. I need the water."
"So do I."
"I have something else you need."
My stomach clenches and my cock jumps, even though I'm fairly certain those words don't mean what I’d like them to.
"What is that?"
The curtain flutters and her hand shoots over to my side gripping a bottle of body wash.
"Unscented," she says, then pulls the bottle back to the other side of the curtain.
I have done a lot of negotiating in my day, and I can say this is the strangest deal I've ever tried to make. Weighing my options, which include climbing out of the shower and going for my toiletry bag, and coming back to a locked bathroom door, or staying in here knowing I'm just inches away from Fiona's naked body and sharing the water with her, I finally reach up and tilt the shower head toward the middle. Her hand comes back to my side with the bottle, and I accept it. We fall into an awkward and decidedly weird silence as we both seem to contemplate what happened in our lives to lead us to this particular point. Filling my hand with the thick body wash, I lather my skin, then lean toward the gap between my side of the shower and hers.
"I'm going to rinse," I say.
"Alright," she says.
I reach up and tilt the shower head back toward me so the full force of the water rushes across my skin and rinses away the bubbles. I duck my head into it to make sure I've gotten out all the shampoo.
"OK. I'm getting out," I say.
"OK."
The shower standoff over, I wrap a towel around my waist and turn into my bedroom. As I dress, I can't believe I was just naked in the shower with Fiona and never tried to touch her. Not once. The brief glimpse I caught of her luscious body when I stepped in the room is enough to fill my mind with a very long list of what I would have liked to do with her in that shower, but I know that’s not an option. That's not why I'm here. The time when I had a chance with Fiona is long over, and the resentment we both feel has created a wedge between us that's even more obvious now that we’re back in the same place.
Despite all logic and reason, however, it feels like a small part of me has come to life again now that we’re reunited. Even if she can’t stand me.
5
Fiona
"I wasn't completely naked. Well, I was. But only for like a second, second and a half tops. I don't think he saw anything."
I rub my hair with my towel, wincing even as I say the words. They don't sound at all convincing.
"Really?"
Nope. She doesn’t buy it, either. Shit.
"Alright. He saw it. The full enchilada. The chips and guacamole, too."
Esme is silent on the other end of the line for several seconds.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know, but he saw everything, Esme."
I groan and drop down to sit on the edge of the bed. The towel, wrapped tightly around me, hasn't budged since I got out of the shower. I just know the second I take it off, Cade will somehow get through the lock I checked twice on my bedroom door.
"Well, did you at least get to see anything in return?"
Of course, that would be her first thought.
"Not really. I closed my eyes when he was getting undressed, and I covered him up with the curtain when I was climbing into the shower."
"When you were what?"
I cringe. I forgot I had neglected to mention that part to her.
"It's a long story. I'll tell you sometime over coffee...and liquor."
"You've only been there for a couple hours. It can't be that bad."
"Oh, but it is. And you know what? I saw him without his shirt. That just makes it worse."
"Does he look bad?"
"He looked so good I wanted to throw my loofah out the window and use him to exfoliate myself. That makes it so, so much worse."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not supposed to feel that way about him. This is Cade. Cade Sawyer. The Cade."
"You forget you've always refused to give me the full details of the whole Cade saga, so all the different types of emphasis are lost on me."
"It just the one thing I refuse to talk about."
"Even to me? Your best friend?"
"Even to you, my best friend."
Esme lets out a frustrated huff.
"It's not fair. I share everything about my life with you. Everything. Even all the little crinkly, grimy pieces."
"Yes, I know," I say, finally deciding I can't spend the rest of my life in a towel, so I might as well get dressed. "But the difference is my little crinkly, grimy piece actually happened, and caused me a lot of pain. Most of your crinkly, grimy parts come from your adventures in online dating, dreams related to late-night women's network movies, or just straight-up delusions."
"I thought we agreed we weren't going to call them that."
I drop the phone onto my bed and lean over so I can continue the conversation while I pull a mint green tank top over my head and shimmy into a pair of black yoga pants.
"You're right," I admit. "I'm sorry.”
"Thank you."
"May I continue?"
"Go ahead."
I brush my hair out of my face, trying to get the conversation back on track, then realize I don't really have anything left to say.
"Oh. I guess that was it."
"So, you're really not going to tell me?"
I hesitate, then realize I've let this go on long enough.
"Fine. What do you want to know?" I speak quickly before she can start. "But, just let me say I don't think it's completely fair for you to pressure this story out of me without receiving the benefit of a sufficient amount of chocolate, and a sloppy pedicure, and whatever the fuck girls do at sleepovers when they talk about stuff like this. I wouldn't know, because I’ve never had one."
"You’ve never had a sleepover?"
Esme sounds deeply sad at the thought that I had missed out on that sacred tradition of youth.
"No," I tell her. "I told you a long time ago, I wasn’t exactly the most sociable person when I was younger. I didn't spend a ton of time hanging out with my peers. I mean I wasn't like the weird kid who would eat my lunch off the floor like the Hunchback of Hoot Owl High or anything."
"Hunchback? Hoot Owl?"
"It's the town where I grew up. I told you, I lived most of the time in the suburbs, but just barely. The house we lived in most of the time was less than an hour from the country."
"Well, that does seem like a lot of country."
"Thank you."
"Wait, why did your grandparents get a house in the suburbs if they loved the country so much?"
"I'm not sure," I say, trying to braid my hair and quickly learning I lack the dexterity to braid one-handed. "They said it was for me and that they wanted to raise me somewhere good for children. But I don't think that's totally it. I mean, how many people move away from fresh air and open spaces to better raise a child? I think it was because of my father. They raised him out here. Maybe they didn't want to feel like they were replacing his childhood with mine. Whatever the reason, they didn't bring me out here until I was about two or so. Gramps would come out alone on the weekends sometimes, but it wasn't until I was a toddler that they started bringing me with them. Then the visits got increasingly frequent until it reached the point that if I wasn't in school, we were here."
"So, where did you meet Cade? At school?"
"Oh, right. We're talking about him, aren't we?"
"Yeah, we are."
I sigh.
"I didn't meet Cade at school. He didn't go to my school, and he's two years older than me. I met him out here. When I was eleven, Grammie and I didn't come out here as soon as school ended like we usually did. Gramps headed out before us, which wasn't that uncommon. This is where he grew up, and his parents before him, and probably generations before that, but I'm not sure. He'd come out here and tinker around with his tools and build things. After a couple of weeks, Grammie told me it was time for us to go out too, and we left just like any summer. I wasn't really looking forward to it. Being out here was never my favorite thing. It's pretty and peaceful, don't get me wrong. It's just feels incredibly isolating, and a little creepy, to be honest. So, when we showed up at the house, I was ready to spend my summer reading the stack of books I brought with me and wandering the grounds of the house like I usually did. Gramps had started teaching me a little bit of woodworking and things, but I wasn't exactly the most dedicated or skilled of students. But when we got inside, Cade was already here. He was sitting in the living room eating one of the chocolate chip cookies Grammie gave to Gramps because she couldn't bear the thought of him going more than a few days without eating something she had baked for him."
